Reaching One Lonely Night
by Helen Palsgraf
Summary: A two-chapter on-canon fic exploring the Mulder/Scully relationship, leading up to that "one lonely night" where Scully invited Mulder into her bed.
1. Chapter 1

This fic was previously only published over at the Gossamer archive. I decided to revisit it, make some minor edits and republish it here.

This plays on the "one lonely night" Scully invited Mulder into her bed, referenced by the Shadowman in the Season 9 episode Trust No 1. It's two chapters; the same night, different points of view.

Chapter 1

Dana Scully

Dana Scully had worked with Fox Mulder for over seven years. In that time, they'd fought monsters, mutants, low-lifes and a shadow government conspiracy. They'd fought for their lives, for each other, and above all, for the work that brought them together. They fought to find the truth. They had both suffered so much loss and heartache, and often only found the strength to continue, even to live, from relying on one another. There was an undeniable connection between them. It was an unbreakable bond of trust, loyalty and commitment. But it had never, ever crossed the line into something... inappropriate.

Inappropriate is exactly what Scully had always thought a physical relationship with Mulder would be. She wasn't concerned for her reputation as a female agent; she'd become "Mrs. Spooky" almost from the start. She knew the gossip mill at the FBI believed they'd been sleeping together for years. Hell, she was pretty sure even Skinner thought the same thing, so it didn't matter that they really weren't. But they were partners; they had each other's back. There wasn't anyone she trusted more. They couldn't afford to be distracted by those kinds of feelings within their partnership. In their profession, it could be deadly.

Besides, they were completely different people. Sure, he was brilliant, handsome and, when he wasn't completely pissing her off, he could be extremely charming and kind. But he was obsessed with the work, and not exactly "relationship material." He was obsessed with finding his sister, and even though he now knows for certain she is dead, the driving force behind his obsession has only intensified, perhaps becoming even more desperate than before. He has now become obsessed with taking down this shadow government, the conspiracy to hide the existence of extraterrestrials (if that's even what the conspiracy is really about). Sometimes he had barely noticed she was there, concentrating instead on the work at hand. Of course, to both his credit and discredit, he always noticed when she wasn't there.

Regardless of recognizing that a sexual relationship with Mulder was completely off-limits, she found it increasingly difficult to pursue relationships with other men. Not just because of her work, and the hours she kept, but because she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that giving her love and devotion to another man would somehow be cheating on Mulder. How messed up is that? Dana Scully's vow of celibacy, as Mulder's very own Vestal Virgin. Sallying forth on quixotic adventures with her platonic partner. Always sleeping alone. Sadly, pathetically, she was always sleeping alone. It was just as well, she mused. She didn't feel like explaining Flukemen and exsanguinations to some investment banker over a candlelit dinner. Maybe she'd wait for the second date before telling him about her abduction, her cancer, the chip in her neck, and the fact that she can't bear children. She imagined how her hypothetical Investment Banker might feel about Mulder showing up at her apartment at three in the morning, dragging her out of bed to chase UFO's. Boundaries have never been Mulder's strong suit. Investment Banker would be dumping her for his secretary in no time, leaving her alone to autopsy dried-up cows in the wee hours of the night at Mulder's insistence.

She audibly sighed at this dismal view of her life, and realized how lonely she was.

Her relationship with Mulder had certainly gone beyond friendship and work partnership at this point, and had become something much more intimate. Love, maybe? Certainly it was limited to pure and chaste devotion. He had given her a sweet kiss on New Year's, but characteristically neither of them ever mentioned it again. She had even asked him to father a child for her, in an IVF procedure, her last chance for motherhood. IVF: the most nonsexual of sexual acts. He had agreed, even though she knew he had reservations and doubts. When it failed to work, the heartbreak she felt was overwhelming. He had been uncharacteristically tender after that. A procedure he had feared would come between them had actually brought them closer together in their shared disappointment. Another night spent crying, held in Mulder's strong arms.

They had even stopped shutting one another out over the past year.

Donnie Pfaster had nearly murdered her for a second time, and Mulder watched as she shot the man in cold blood. Sure, he tried to convince her that Pfaster had given her no choice, but she hadn't been so sure of that. True to his word, he carefully drafted his report to make sure there would be no real doubt that Scully had acted properly. But that night, after the police were done questioning them and "the crime scene" was still being worked up, Mulder brought her to his apartment. He solemnly tended to her many cuts and bruises, including the tedious process of removing shards of glass from her back. He barely said a word, for which she was grateful. He then brought her into his bed, holding her the entire night. He never asked her permission or her preference, but led her to the bed, pulled back the covers and slid in beside her. He probably knew she would tell him she was "fine" if he'd asked, and that she could spend the night alone on his couch. But he obviously knew exactly how vulnerable she felt, and he made sure she felt safe. When she woke up in the morning, she knew she should feel awful. She'd killed a man; she'd been beaten up and put through hell. But she woke up with her head against Mulder's chest and an arm wrapped around his bare waist, and she was surprised to find how much it dulled her pain.

Not long after, Mulder suffered yet another loss - that of his mother. They were working on a gruesome case, a missing girl that tragically turned into a case of numerous murdered children. In the middle of that madness, his mother had committed suicide. His breakdown was overwhelming. Neither of them got much sleep that night as they lay in his bed, him clutching her with a frantic desperation, as though if he loosened his grip, she might suddenly disappear along with all the other people he loved. She held him and cradled him like a child, comforting him throughout the night while fighting back her own sobs of despair – despair Scully felt not for Teena Mulder, but for the son she had left behind. The son who had spent his entire adult life looking for his missing sister, only to end up losing the rest of his family without ever even finding her. Mulder finally got his closure, as he discovered that his sister had died as a result of the experiments "They" had been conducting on her. He could finally stop looking for her, it would seem, although Scully knew that Samantha would always haunt him. He might not be able to find her, but he was still looking for answers, for resolution. Scully wasn't sure he would ever get that, but she believed that at least knowing Samantha's fate was a start.

It was sometime after that Mulder threw himself back into the work, and her along with it. She was starting to lose her patience with him, however. He was desperate to see things that weren't there. First, there was a miserable stakeout involving a transvestite trying to bring prostitutes closer to Jesus, and then drunken teenagers in the woods drowning in margarita mix. With Mulder, everything had to be an X-File. Finally, she came to a breaking point and refused to travel with him to England, spending her weekend on two international flights and sitting in a damp field waiting for crop circles to appear. She was quickly losing focus, tired of the work, and to a certain extent, even tired of him.

That's when she'd encountered Daniel. Over a 48-hour period she was forced to reexamine her life and her choices, and make sense of all that has happened, and not happened, in the past decade. She was surprised to find she was happier with her choices than she had realized. When Mulder came back from England, they talked. They really talked. She told him about her entire weekend, about her relationship with Daniel, about her apparent visions in the temple. He was stunned; she knew he saw the change in her, not just in her willingness to believe something extreme, but also a change in her demeanor. She felt a new calm, a new peace, and an awakening of sorts.

She was also exhausted, not only from the busy and emotionally turbulent weekend of facing such introspection, but also from the weight that had been lifted from her chest. So exhausted in fact, she managed to pass out on Mulder's couch in the middle of their conversation. When she woke up a few hours later, she was still on his couch, his blanket tucked around her. She smiled when she remembered where she was. She briefly considered going home, but made a different choice. She walked towards his bedroom. His door was open, and he was obviously asleep. She hesitated, not wanting to wake him, but finally went into his room. She lingered in his doorway for a few moments watching him sleep peacefully, an unusual act for him she knew. She stepped into the room and grabbed one of his t-shirts out of his half-open dresser drawer. She quietly discarded her suit, put the t-shirt on and crawled into the bed.

"Scully?" he had murmured, opening his eyes slightly to look at her.

"Go back to sleep, Mulder. And share the covers," she smiled, kissing him lightly on the temple.

At that, he had drawn her into his arms, kissed her on the forehead and they both fell asleep.

It was a new intimacy between them, to be sharing a bed when there was no tragedy, no pain as the catalyst. But, again, they didn't speak of it. She'd left the next morning before he woke up so things wouldn't be awkward and he wouldn't catch a gratuitous glimpse of her skivvies.

And now, here she is, alone on another Saturday night. She ate her dinner, which consisted of a small salad. She took a bath, folded some laundry, then sat on her couch and curled up with the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. She frowned in the silence of her apartment, still contemplating her loneliness as she flipped through the pages to the article she wanted to read. She would be sleeping alone again tonight, just like every other night.

The truth, she had finally admitted to herself, was that she didn't want the Investment Banker. She wanted the FBI Agent. She knew she was feeling lonely, but she was only lonely for Mulder.

Halfway through the article, Scully's thoughts were interrupted as she heard a knock at her door.

She peered through the peephole, and was mildly surprised to find Mulder standing outside her apartment.

"Hey, what's going on?" she inquired as she opened the door, stepping aside to let him in.

"Pack a bag, Scully. I booked us on a flight this evening to Omaha. We have a rental car waiting at the airport, where we'll then drive six hours northwest on charming country roads. You won't believe what's out there... it's a real... live... JACKALOPE!" he proclaimed enthusiastically.

"Mulder!" she sputtered, unable to effectively articulate her overwhelming frustration as her voice became more desperate and shrill. "No! A jackalope?! Why? No! Omaha? On a Saturday night? Oh, my God! No! NO!" She would kill him, she decided. That's it. Where's her gun? Was it on her nightstand or her dresser? Did he have his gun? She should use his gun instead. Make it look like an accident...

"Ah, Scully, I'm just kidding. There's no such thing as a jackalope, that's just crazy. But I had you going there, didn't I?" he grinned, flopping down on her couch, obviously pleased with himself.

"God, Mulder!" She exhaled, irritated at his farce, but relieved he wasn't actually trying to whisk her off to middle-of-nowhere Nebraska to chase jackalopes.

When she had partially regained her composure, she asked, still slightly exasperated, "So, why exactly are you here?"

"I brought you a present," he smiled.

She furrowed her brow, wondering if this was another joke. Wondering if tucked into his jacket was a slideshow presentation of jackalope photos. Or worse. Exsanguinated jackalopes. Oh, God...

Just then, she heard another knock at the door.

"Ah, there's your present now," he commented, removing his jacket and tossing it into the nearby chair.

She peered through the peephole again, and then opened the door. The pizza guy handed her a box, waved to Mulder and left. She peered into the box. Relieved, it was, in fact, just pizza. With her favorite toppings, she noted with a little smile. The smile faded quickly though, as she then considered that he was buttering her up for something.

"What's this about, Mulder?" she inquired, setting the pizza down on the table and heading into the kitchen to grab plates, napkins and some beer.

"Nothing. I was just lonely." He shrugged, opening the box and pulling out a slice. She looked at him quizzically as she slid a plate under the slice he had just removed from the box and handed him a beer. He smiled shyly at her, but the moment of honesty quickly passed. He grinned mischievously and continued, "I would have called first, but I was hoping to catch you in the bath. Thought you might need some help with the loofah."

"Sorry, I'm afraid you missed the nude scene by about an hour. But thanks for the pizza. And for the company. It was... thoughtful," she gave him a small smile.

"Anytime. I figured you'd only had rabbit food for dinner anyway and needed some sustenance," he said, taking a swig of beer.

He knows me too well, she thought.

They chatted pleasantly for a while, bantering about the past week's work, discussing her most recent family outing, and his day of video game geekdom spent with the Gunmen. It was light and casual, a normal Saturday evening between two ordinary people. However, the normalcy of the evening struck her as being completely abnormal for them, which succeeded in unnerving her some. There was something new in the air, but rather than making her uncomfortable, she was actually enjoying herself. She remembered that she had been lonely too.

They finished the pizza and a second round of beers, and Scully gathered up the plates and the empty pizza box and brought them into the kitchen. Mulder followed behind her with the empty beer bottles for the recycling bin. Scully quickly washed the dishes and Mulder put them back into the cabinet for her. She inwardly smiled at the level of comfort between them. He was being charming this evening, more attentive than usual, and there was definitely something different about him. She thought there might be something different about her too. She felt more of a willingness to get close to him, more of a desire. She was used to quelling that desire, and she wasn't sure she wanted to any longer. In fact, she was sure she didn't. Why not stop now?

"Well, I should probably let you get back to your evening of peaceful solitude, Scully. Thanks for putting up with me and keeping me company," he smiled at her, and turned to walk back into the living room to get his jacket.

Without thinking, she reached out and caught his wrist with her right hand, turning him back around to face her.

"No," she said softly. "Don't go."

She was still holding onto his wrist and she took a step towards him, invading his personal space. She looked up at him, unable to prevent the words from spilling out, unable to mask her need. "I was lonely too."

He looked at her with a combination of fascination and disbelief. With his free hand, he reached out and pushed a strand of her hair back behind her left ear. She closed her eyes and breathed in his touch. She tentatively moved closer, his hand still on her face, caressing her temple. Her right hand released his wrist and ran up his left arm. His right hand moved from her temple to the back of her neck. He pulled her closer to him and brushed his lips against hers briefly, as though testing the waters. It was light, lingering and electric, much like their first kiss but this time not nearly so chaste.

She gasped a little at the feel of his lips, and moved in to kiss him again, deeper this time. She inhaled his scent while still tasting his kiss, mesmerized by the sensation. His stubble was rough against her sensitive skin, but she didn't care. He was her work partner; she wasn't supposed to be doing this. But she didn't care.

Their kissing became more passionate, more frantic. She didn't want to come up for air. She was sure if they broke contact that one of them would come to their senses and stop this. Point out that they shouldn't be doing this. But then they would stop doing this. She liked this. She craved it. She couldn't believe how incredible it was to just kiss him.

He finally broke away from her mouth and began kissing a trail down her neck with the same level of intensity.

"Scully," he moaned into her ear. "We probably shouldn't be doing this." But he didn't stop kissing her neck. In fact, he had begun running his left hand up the back of her shirt.

"I know, I know. Maybe we should stop," she said dutifully, half-heartedly. Her hands slid up the front of his shirt onto his bare stomach, reaching up his chest.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked as he continued kissing her neck, his mouth traveling down to her collarbone.

"Oh dear God, no," she replied emphatically.

At that, he pressed against her, and she leaned into the cabinet behind her. At that, he kissed her even harder. He then placed both hands under the back of her shirt, running his hands up her back.

"Mulder...?" she said between kisses.

"Hmm?" he inquired, his fingers sliding under her bra strap.

"Let's take this somewhere else," she risked breaking the spell by suggesting they take it farther, and into her bed.

She led him to her bedroom, stopping every few feet to continue kissing him. Once they entered her room, she closed the door behind him, the only light in the room from the lamp on her nightstand. She gently pushed him onto the bed. She stood in front of him, slowly unbuttoning her blouse to reveal a lacy black bra. She was glad she had worn her nicer lingerie on this of all evenings, a fortunate result of it having been laundry day. (She didn't wear her nice undergarments to chase monsters in dark alleys. She had learned that lesson a long time ago.)

She let her shirt fall to the floor then did the same with her slacks, revealing a matching pair of lace panties. She heard him take in a sharp breath as his eyes took her in. This was uncharacteristic of her to be so sexual, so bold. But she was looking to change her ways. Tonight seemed a good night to start.

He pulled her closer to him and began running his hands over her body. He caressed her stomach while planting soft, wet kisses across her chest. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and began kissing him again.

"Scully...," he hesitated, pulling away slightly. He was still touching her, but he looked troubled. Uh oh, this is it, she thought. He's going to be the responsible one and stop this.

He exhaled a long breath and continued, looking at her deeply. "I want you to know this isn't what I intended when I came over here tonight. I honestly just wanted to spend time with you. I didn't expect... this. I want you to know that I still don't. Expect it, I mean," he said carefully, obviously needing to be honest with her but still looking afraid she would take the out he was giving her.

"I didn't expect this either, Mulder. But it's okay," she smiled. "It's better than okay, it's actually... perfect."

Relieved by her encouragement, he returned her smile, and shifted her off of him and onto her back. She helped him remove his shirt and ran her hands over his smooth chest, before tucking both hands into the waist of his jeans. She pulled him closer, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He stood up and pushed them to the floor, stepping out of them, also discarding his socks and shoes. He moved on top of her, and she could feel his erection against her hip through his boxers. A pleasantly large erection, she noted. As they removed their last articles of clothing, she couldn't believe they were actually doing this. It was unbelievable. And it felt unbelievable.

Neither of them mentioned protection. It wasn't like she was concerned about pregnancy, although what a wonderful miracle that would be. She didn't want to ruin the moment by bringing up something that would just remind them of her infertility.

The next morning, she woke up reaching for him, but he wasn't there. She groggily wondered if the whole thing had just been a dream. No, he had definitely been there. She smelled like him, and smelled like sex. She was sore from all of the activity. Three times, she remembered, unable to stop the blush that crept up her cheeks, and the giddy smile that followed. She was still naked, wrapped in her sheet, and her clothes were on the floor where she'd left them. She noticed his were gone. She looked at the clock. 10:05. It had been a pretty long and exhausting night, but she couldn't believe she'd slept so long. She tried not to be too hurt he wasn't still there. She just hoped he didn't regret it.

She got up, slipped on her robe and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Sitting on her counter was a note.

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. I'm going home to shower and change. Call me when you read this and we can make plans for the day if you're free.

You're amazing. I can't stop thinking about you.

Yours,

Mulder"

She blushed at the intimacy of the last line and sighed happily. She didn't know where this was going, or what dangers were ahead. But all she knew was that she wasn't lonely anymore.

She reached for the phone and dialed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Fox Mulder

Complicated. The relationship between Fox Mulder and Dana Scully has always been complicated.

They were put together in an effort for her to debunk his work into the paranormal. He may not have trusted her when she walked into his basement office in 1992, but it didn't take long before she was the only one he would fully trust.

They were used to the rumors circulating about them at the Bureau. Mulder felt slightly guilty that Scully's mere association with him tainted her reputation. Fiercely loyal to him, she had constantly stood up for him, defended him and fought for him and his cause. He knew it had become her cause, too. Even still, their relationship, built on mutual respect and dedication to their work, was at first solely professional as partners. Slowly, they even became friends. But it didn't take long before they were inextricably tied together.

They were drawn to one another by the challenges they faced, and even worse, the tragedies they suffered. She was abducted, experimented on, and fought cancer. She lost her father, then her sister, and finally a daughter she hadn't known even existed. She had been left barren. She faced evil she had never imagined. Mulder fought his personal demons just as often as he did shadowy government figures and monsters in the dark. His father was murdered, and his mother committed suicide. His sister, for whom he had sacrificed everything to find, was dead, and had been since she was 14. He was the only one left, and the only person he had left in the world was Scully.

Through the insanity, it was Scully who kept him grounded. Without her, he would be lost. Without her, he was sure he'd be dead. He couldn't begin to understand why she stayed with him, why she didn't just put in a transfer back to Quantico years ago. Why she didn't accept defeat the first time they were split up, just shook his hand claiming it had been nice working with him, and never looked back. Hell, why she didn't run screaming from him the first day she showed up in his basement office and introduced herself as his new partner. Even though he knew how much being with him had cost her, and how deeply he felt the pain of her many losses, he was desperately grateful she was there. As annoying as her skepticism could be at times, he knew without her science, without her reasoning, and without her watching his back, he would never have gotten this far.

So, what changed? What made him fall in love with Scully? He'd known for years that he loved Scully, and she loved him. Nearly losing someone will force that realization, as it had for him when she was abducted. But it used to be different. It had always been about the work, and finding the truth. It had been about their partnership and friendship. He had been content to think of Scully as his one in five billion, the only person on the planet who ever believed him, or at the very least, didn't dismiss him outright as being insane.

Then suddenly, there was something more. Maybe it was when he almost lost her to cancer. Maybe it was that moment in the hallway outside his apartment when he told her she made him a whole person, with a brief spark of emotion between them that nearly resulted in a kiss, his mouth so close to hers that he could taste her breath. He'd gone to the other end of the world to save her, knowing if he lost her, he couldn't go on. But never had he imagined crossing the line from friendship to a sexual relationship. Okay, so he'd imagined. He'd imagined a lot. He's a man after all, and she is a beautiful woman. But he never imagined it could actually happen.

They had never talked about the almost-kiss, both avoiding the uncomfortable fact that they had nearly crossed a line. After they returned from Antarctica, he had gotten angry at her, believing she had failed to support him before OPR. He initially pushed her away, intent upon continuing his work even though they were off the X-Files.

Maybe it was his trip to the Bermuda Triangle, when he kissed Scully's doppelganger in 1939. When he woke up in the hospital, he confessed to Scully he loved her. She thought it was just the drugs talking. Maybe it was. But even though he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, he knew there was something more there.

It didn't matter, however, because a romantic relationship with his partner was out of the question. He'd done that once before with Diana Fowley. And he knew Scully had done the same with an instructor at the Academy. They had an unspoken oath that they would not repeat their mistakes. That didn't stop his feelings, and certainly not his desires, but it did prevent him from acting on them. He would never risk their partnership over romantic yearnings. He might make sexual innuendos, but he would never act on them. He didn't think he would act on them. Okay, so he would probably act on them. But that didn't mean that he should. Should he?

That didn't prevent them from getting closer, however. They had begun to spend time together outside of their usual work routine. They had spent some time at one another's apartments, actually enjoying each other's company. He took in how her hair smelled when they went to the park to hit baseballs. He found himself touching her more, brushing strands of hair from her face, touching her back, arms and wrists. He knew he shouldn't, but they were becoming comfortable with one another, and more intimate.

Scully saved his life yet again when she rescued him from a DOD facility using Diana's keycard, an event that got Diana killed. Throughout that ordeal, he realized what mattered most. He had dreamed of this ordinary life with Diana, but he knew, even as he was dreaming it, what he wanted most was an extraordinary life with Scully. When Scully told him that Diana was murdered because she helped Scully get him out of there, he knew he should have felt an immediate pang of sorrow for losing Diana. But all he could think of was that it could have been Scully, and that's what made him choke back tears. He didn't tell her that though. Instead, he told her she was his touchstone, his constant. Although he wanted to kiss her then, he didn't.

However, he couldn't help himself on New Year's. She'd just saved his sorry ass, again. He would have been eaten alive by apocalyptic zombies had she not been there. She took him to the hospital, got him patched up, just in time for the new millennium. There she was in the hospital lobby, looking up at the television with a starry look in her eyes. He didn't know what possessed him to be so bold, but he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a long chaste kiss. Speaking with double entendre, he smiled and noted that the world had not ended. Seemingly bewildered, yet amused, she had smiled back at him and agreed with his assessment. Another intimate moment never discussed.

Things took a turn for the worse when Pfaster escaped from prison. He couldn't even imagine the torment Scully was going through during the case, and then to have that sick son-of-a-bitch attack her again... Mulder knew that if Scully had been dead when he arrived at her apartment, he would have emptied his gun into Pfaster's head himself. He wished he had. Wished he could take away Scully's guilt for killing Pfaster, wishing he could take away her doubts that she did the right thing. Perhaps procedurally she had erred, but after he saw what Pfaster did to her, he wished the bastard were still alive so he could kill him himself, after beating the living shit out of him.

The police questioned them but it didn't take long since no one doubted the necessity of fatally shooting an escaped serial killer. Especially one who had turned a woman who is five-three and barely over 100 pounds into a punching bag, and about to brutally murder and disfigure her. He had made sure his report reflected the necessity of shooting Pfaster, so Scully would not suffer any consequences at the FBI, even though the police did not intend to pursue a case against her.

After the police were done with them, he took her back to his apartment. His hands trembled as he removed shards of glass from her back. He managed to choke back any expression, as he didn't want Scully to know exactly how much this event had gotten to him. He didn't want her to know how the life had drained from him when he saw Pfaster in her apartment, not knowing if Scully was already dead. How, if Pfaster had killed her, he might as well have killed him too. Rather, he knew she wasn't in the mood to talk, and neither was he, and he certainly didn't want to burden her with his own pain. Silently he had tucked her into his bed and lay next to her, and held her hand while stroking her hair. He didn't ask if she wanted to be alone, he knew she'd tell him she was fine and would shut down even more. So he crawled under the covers with her and held her, soothing her in her sleep when the evening's events began to torment her. Waking up to her in his arms made all of the anger and fear of the previous night's events slip away. She was safe, and she was with him. It would all be okay.

Even so, the rest of the year's events had left him distant from her again. He would find himself vulnerable, take solace in her arms, and then push her away again. It was a vicious cycle. His mother's suicide, then finally knowing his sister had died. But the event he won't share with Scully is finding out he is dying. He can't tell her, he couldn't burden her with his illness. He remembered how deeply her cancer had affected him, the helplessness and the despair. And he didn't want to spend what time he had left with her pitying him, or have her spend the rest of her life feeling guilty when she couldn't find a way to save him. So he kept his distance, and shut her out of his pain.

When she came to him with the request to make a child with her in the IVF procedure, he had agreed. He wanted to give her the one thing she wanted the most. But he agreed not just because she had asked him, even though he would do anything she asked of him, but selfishly out of a biological imperative. His family was gone, and soon he would be too. If he could help create a child, Scully's child, then maybe he could come to terms with dying. At the same time, the thought had made him immensely sad. To create a child he would never get the chance to know. He didn't tell her this, of course. Instead he told her his initial hesitation was fear that it would come between them.

However, the procedure had failed. He knew how devastated Scully was, even though as a doctor she knew she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. After mourning yet another loss with Scully, another sleepless night together of sorrow, he threw himself back into the work, desperate to finish what he could before his brain betrayed him. He knew Scully wasn't so enthusiastic. He had sent her on too many wild goose chases and she was getting fed up. He didn't blame her for not going with him to England, not really. He'd gotten angry at the time, but more that he was just feeling desperate.

When he came back though, her entire life had changed. She'd had a vision in a Buddhist temple and she'd even brought a spiritual healer to her former lover's hospital bed. Dana Scully, a woman of science and logic and reasoning, had not only believed in the paranormal but embraced it. Most importantly, she seemed at peace. She wasn't annoyed with him anymore. In fact, she seemed happy to be with him, believing that she was on the path she was supposed to be. With him.

He could have talked to her all night, but she eventually dozed off on his couch. He tucked his blanket around her, and couldn't help but push a loose strand of soft red hair back behind her ear. He went into his bedroom and laid awake thinking about their conversation, and trying not to think of the woman he was in love with sleeping on his couch, instead of in his bed where he felt she belonged. He had almost fallen asleep when he heard the soft creak of his dresser drawer. He opened his eyes to watch as Scully disrobed right in front of him. He could make out her slim figure in the moonlight, clad only in satin panties and a lace bra. He should probably have closed his eyes and given her privacy, but he couldn't help but drink in her beautiful body exposed to him this way.

He was disappointed to see her pull out one of his t-shirts and slip it on over her head. He had dared to hope that she was coming to seduce him, but knew she was uncomfortable in her suit and was too tired to drive home. However, he was pleasantly surprised when instead of returning to the couch, she crawled into bed with him. He couldn't resist pulling her into his arms and drifting back to sleep, warmed by her touch. The next morning, he woke to find her already gone, her scent still lingering on his sheets and on him. They wouldn't even mention this, he knew. It was far too intimate to even joke about, and he didn't want to embarrass her.

He wanted her to do it again.

After spending a lonely Friday night over-analyzing his relationship with Scully, Mulder decided he needed a distraction for the remainder of the weekend. He decided to spend his Saturday afternoon playing video games with the Lone Gunmen. He was looking forward to a day of testosterone-filled virtual violence to fill the lonely void. However, he couldn't help but remember how completely bad-ass Scully had been when she had fought off the murderous video game goddess. The guys couldn't help but remember either. Not that Frohike needed any encouragement when lusting after the "delicious" Agent Scully, but that impressive display of hot-chick ass-kicking had put him into sensory overload. Honestly, it had much the same effect on Mulder.

Once the gaming session was over, he returned home to an empty apartment. Just him and some fish. He was suddenly struck by its emptiness and the quiet was overwhelming.

That's when he decided to head over to Scully's place. He shouldn't be wasting whatever time he had left sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He knew he couldn't be with Scully, not like he wanted to, but that didn't mean they couldn't spend time together. He wanted to spend time with her. He wanted to enjoy her company while he still could.

So, he ordered a pizza on his way over to her apartment, paid the pizza guy and told him to wait five minutes before taking it upstairs. When Scully came to the door, he made up some crazy story that he knew would get a rise out of her, hoping she'd be so grateful he wasn't actually whisking her off on another wild goose chase that she'd let him stay (instead of shooting him).

Even so, he'd almost lost his composure with a brief flicker of honesty. He had admitted he was there because he was lonely. What he didn't tell her was that being without her was what made him lonely. That it was her company he needed. He covered the moment with a sexual comment, but he thought he saw understanding in her eyes. Maybe she had felt the same way.

After they ate, drank a couple beers and chatted pleasantly, he decided he had overstayed his welcome. She was acting different around him, and he couldn't quite discern what it was. She seemed to be having a good time, but there was still something strange about her demeanor. But just as he was about to leave, she reached out for him and asked him not to go.

"I was lonely too," she said softly, with an unmistakable expression in her voice.

He couldn't help himself, not with Scully's hand still on his wrist and a come-hither look on her face. He reached out to touch her, tentatively at first, brushing that strand of red hair behind her ear. He could feel chills up his spine as she ran her hand up his arm to his shoulder. This is it, he thought. I want this to happen. She wants it to happen. Why can't it happen?

Before he talked himself out of it, he moved his hand to the back of her neck and in response she moved even closer to him. Still tentatively, he brushed his lips lightly against hers. He remembered that first kiss, on New Year's, and wanted to show her there could be more. She took the cue and kissed him back, harder this time, with a need he had never seen in her before.

He began to feel guilty. What was he doing? He knew he was dying. Was this fair to her? Or was it the fairest thing he could do? Once he was gone, would she be filled with regret that they had never been together? That they had never let themselves love one another? He knew that was a regret he would have in his final moments.

He broke away and began kissing her neck, her lips too intoxicating for him to think straight. Not that her neck was any less intoxicating. Her scent, her soft skin, his face being nestled in her hair... No, he needed to know, to give her the chance to stop this.

"Scully, we probably shouldn't be doing this," he began, still unable to stop kissing her.

He heard her sigh and agree, "I know, I know. Maybe we should stop." However, she then moved her hands up under his shirt and began caressing his chest. Not the actions of a woman who wanted to stop.

"Do you want to stop?" He asked just in case.

"Oh dear God, no," she answered, deciding for him.

He pressed his body against hers. He considered taking her right there, on the counter, on the floor, just needing her, wanting her. Of course, he was being presumptuous. He was sure she didn't intend on this going much further. That was okay too, he thought. Kissing her was wonderful, he could live with kissing; he could kiss her all night. Of course, touching her was nice too, he thought, as his fingers caressed her bare back. He found her bra strap and he slid them underneath.

"Mulder..." she began. Uh oh, had she changed her mind?

"Let's take this somewhere else," she finished.

He expected they would move to the couch, but she led him to her bedroom instead. She closed the door behind him and pushed him back onto the bed. Was this really happening? As she slowly started unbuttoning her shirt, he realized he knew the answer. He watched incredulously as she shed first her shirt and then her slacks, revealing incredibly sexy undergarments. Black and lacy: his favorite kind. He was completely awestruck as she allowed him to look at her, really look at her. Not stealing glances when she wasn't looking, not squinting in the dark when she thought he was asleep, but given permission to take in her form, admiring her curves and toned muscles. He was amazed how she could be so hard and fit, and at the same time be so soft and feminine.

Finally, he reached for her, needing more than to just look at her. Needing to touch her. Taste her, breathe in her scent. She filled all of his senses in an overwhelming way. She climbed onto his lap, her knees pressed against his hips. He was going to make love to her, finally. Seven years of foreplay, he thought. This is the woman he loves more than anything, and he'd finally gotten up the nerve to do this.

Before he could though, he needed her to know that he didn't come over here to coax her into bed. He wanted her to know that just being with her was enough, and he didn't have any expectations for this. She replied that she hadn't expected this either, but that it was perfect anyway.

With that, they continued undressing until they were both completely naked in one another's arms. This first time wasn't going to last long, he was certain. He was trying to pace himself, but honestly, how many years had it been since he'd actually had sex? With an actual woman? Not to mention that this wasn't just any woman, this was Scully, his Scully, the woman he'd been in love with for, oh, he still had no idea. He considered briefly that he should use a condom, that would make him last longer, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Now, of all times, he didn't want to remind her of her infertility. A twinge of regret filled him. He still wished he could give her a child. Never give up on a miracle, he had told her. If there is a god, no one deserves that miracle more than Scully.

Pushing away the unpleasant thoughts, instead he sought comfort and love from her body. They made love several times, spending the night in each other's arms. They dozed off and on, waking to the other's kisses and needful caresses then continued their love-making. He felt truly happy for the first time in years.

He woke up hours before she did, but he decided not to wake her. He didn't want to intrude upon her when she woke up, in case she was uncomfortable in the morning after. It took a lot of effort on his part to not wake her up when he left at 7:30, to make love to her again, not in the mask of darkness, but with the morning light shining through her window. Instead, he let her sleep. He left her a note and went home to shower and change, hoping she would agree to spend the day with him. And hopefully, he considered, another night.

He was still painfully aware that this was not going to lead to a happily ever after for them. His time was limited. But he wanted to spend it with her.

They had wasted enough time already.


End file.
